


The Ground We Stand On

by KimBug



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Laurel Lance Black Canary origin story, Set circa season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 09:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18258188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimBug/pseuds/KimBug
Summary: After Sara dies protecting her, Laurel decides to take on the Canary mantle. After years away, Laurel returns to Starling City determined to carry on Sara's legacy, but fitting back into her old city with her new identity isn't as easy as she thought it might be, both for her and for those she left behind.An alternate Black Canary origin story, set circa season 2/3. An oldie but a goodie, cross-posted on ff.net back in the day.





	1. Chapter 1

She remembers it like it was yesterday. The wet ground.  The driving rain.  Holding Sara’s hand while blood soaked through her fingers.  But it wasn’t yesterday. It was...another life.  A life that, Laurel sees now, she lived in incredible naiveté. In that life, she had thought that justice could be dealt by law and order, by courts and jails and police officers.  In that life, there was no League of Assassins, no super human soldiers bent on revenge, and nobody came back from the dead.  In that life, she thought she was strong and capable. She knows better now.  Sara’s death replays in her head more often than she’d care to admit, even if it’s now a much less frequent vision than it was before.  Sara fought for her, Sara died for her, she will never forget it.

In the earliest days after it happened, once the feeling of shocked numbness began to subside, Laurel couldn’t help but relive the scene and look for some way, for any way, she could have changed things.  What if she’d run left instead of right?  Should she have yelled louder, or just stayed quiet?  She thought about it over and over and, in the end, came to only one conclusion:  if she’d been stronger, if she could have fought harder, maybe she and Sara could have won.

So she resolved to make herself stronger.

It was easier than she would have thought to find a place where she could go, where she could sequester herself away and focus herself on making herself into a warrior.  And for nearly two years, that’s what she did.  There was not a minute of the day when she wasn’t training to become stronger, faster, more agile, more deadly.  And for all that Laurel knew it wouldn’t change the past, it made her feel like she was accomplishing something Sara would be proud of.  She would continue Sara’s work to protect their city.  And with each criminal the Canary took down, Sara would be avenged, honoured, and remembered.

It’s on her second night out that he finds her.  She’s not surprised. News of a masked blond taking out muggers and thugs was bound to draw his attention.  And, if she is completely honest with herself, she had wanted it to.

She’s just finished taking out a would-be carjacker when she sees him.  He’s in full Arrow gear, bow in hand, face half covered by his iconic hood.  He is the picture of intimidation.  But she stands her ground. 

“Who are you?” he demands, his voice rough and angry in a way she knows has nothing to do with the voice modulator he uses.

“I’m the Canary,” she answers with as much fierceness and authority she can muster. 

He doesn’t seem to like that answer.  He stalks towards her, rage apparent in every step.  He stops only an arms reach away.  “I’m only going to ask one more time,” he says, his voice lower but no less demanding, “and then I’m going to find out for myself.  Who are you?”

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes narrowing as he stares her down, before she reaches up and pushes the mask up to her forehead.  She sees him start, but only for a second, before his deadly glare returns and he is grabbing her by arm and pulling her along.

“What are you doing?” she demands, using her free hand to pull her mask back into place.

“We need to talk,” is his angry reply.

She toys with the idea of pulling away from him, wonders if she could.  It’s what she’s been training for, and part of her is anxious to show him how much she’s learned, how much she’s changed.  But he’s right, they need to talk.  So she follows him.  He’s facing away from her, his voice mumbling something she can’t quite hear.  She knows he has partners, two men, she saw them when Sara died.  Maybe he’s communicating with them.  His words are clearly not meant for her. 

When he lets go of her arm they’re at his motorcycle.  He looks back over his shoulder and says “Get on.”  It’s not a suggestion.  She climbs on and they’re speeding away, moving so fast her heart rate accelerates.  The bike dodges and weaves through the streets and alleyways of the Glades.  Laurel tries to learn their trail, but they’re moving too fast for her to really get her bearings, and she thinks that might be the point.  They don’t slow down until they’re coasting down a small ramp into a dark garage.  Oliver shuts off the bike and climbs off in one smooth movement.  He heads through a lighted doorway without a word or backwards glace.  After a beat, she follows.

The space she enters is open and industrial.  It’s so brightly lit compared to the dark city streets that it takes her eyes a minute to adjust.  Oliver’s bow clatters against a metal table as he sets it down.  He pushes off his hood and mask as he turns to face her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls out, voice raised.  Laurel’s ire rises to meet his own.

“I’m carrying on Sara’s legacy,” she retorts, pulling off her wig and mask, voice just as loud.

He looks incredulous.  “Do you think this is some kind of game?  That you can just sub-in?” he shouts, taking a step closer.  “Do you have ANY idea how dangerous it is?”

Her voice becomes fiercer.  “Sara is DEAD Ollie,” she yells.  “I think that gives me all the understanding I need.”

“You are NOT doing this,” he tells her angrily.

“Like HELL I’m not!” she rages back.

“Ok, maybe we should take a breath here,” says a new voice, its calmness a stark contrast to her and Oliver’s angry tones.  Laurel looks past Oliver for the first time and only then notices they have an audience.  There are three of them, two men and a woman.  The man who spoke is coming towards them, hands open in a gesture of surrender.  Laurel recognizes him in the recesses of her memory as Oliver’s...something.  Driver, maybe.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Oliver bites out to both of them.

“I’m not asking your permission,” she snaps back.

His eyes are steely and she can tell he’s about to shout again when she sees a small hand land on his elbow and hears a soft “Oliver.”  He whips his head around to face the woman and Laurel’s attention turns to her as well.  She doesn’t say anything else, she just looks at him, and Laurel watches as his face softens somewhat and his rigid posture relaxes.  The interaction surprises her but she’s grateful for the decline in tension all the same.  What surprises her most, however, is the woman herself.  She had no trouble recognizing the blond ponytail, glasses and brightly coloured lips of Oliver’s secretary, but she’s surprised to see her here, with Oliver’s vigilante persona.

“Take a minute, okay?”  the blond says to him softly, and Laurel sees him close his eyes and exhale before giving an almost imperceptible nod of his head and stalking away.

“Laurel?” she hears, and her head snaps back to the man that first approached them. He leans against the metal table, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” he says.

So she tells them.  She tells them where she’s been, how she’s lived the last two years of her life with a singular purpose, to be the hero Sara was.  She tells them that ever since Sara had died for her, died protecting her, that this was the only way life made sense again.  And even though Oliver has walked away from her, she knows he can hear every word.  So she tells him that, like it or not, she will be the Canary.  She tells him that she didn’t come back to Starling to join his team, but to protect the city that she came from, that Sara fought for.

He’s quiet as she speaks her piece and, for a moment, she thinks she may have gotten through to him.  But as he walks towards her, the hard line of his jaw and the fierceness on his face tell her otherwise. 

“No,” is all he says in a voice so low and certain that it makes her blood boil with rage.  She wants to hit him, both to show him what she’s made of and to vent some of her frustration, but he’s already walking past her.  So she stands there, seething, as she notices the other three exchange looks.  It’s the blond that walks over to her and gives her a sympathetic look.  “We’ll talk to him,” she says and Laurel, understanding the olive branch, nods in return.  “Digg will show you out,” she says, looking between Laurel and Oliver’s driver, before she walks away.

It’s not until she’s out on the rooftops, racing over the city, giving her muscles the excursion they now crave, that she’s centred again.  The confrontation with Oliver had thrown her.  She meant what she said, she is the Canary now, whether Oliver Queen likes it or not.  Still, part of her, she has to admit, is disappointed.  She hadn’t been expecting his outright rejection.  But it didn’t matter. Standing on a ledge, high about the streets, she knew.  This was her life now, there was no going back.


	2. Chapter 2

It was weeks before she saw him again.  She went on with her life, this new incarnation of her life, just as she had told him she would.  By day she lived as Laurel Lance.  She got a job as a clerk in a law library (it had been so long since she practiced law, since she had even thought about law, that she knew practicing it now was out of the question), she found herself a small apartment, and she spent time with her father.  He was happy to have her back, she knew that, but still, their relationship was strained.  She left when he needed her and if there was one regret Laurel had about her decision, it was that.  But she was determined to recreate what they had had, and she knew he was trying too, and that was enough for now.

By night she lived as the Canary.  She existed on the rooftops and in the shadows and she helped in any way she could.  And while she knew the Arrow was out there, she never saw him.  She only saw the evidence of his handy work on news reports the next day.  Until one night at the docks.

She knew something big was happening.  She’d handled enough drug dealers to spot them a mile away.  So when she saw a few of the bigger players congregated in the area, she knew something was up.  A shipment had come in most likely, of drugs or guns or something equally dangerous to the people of Starling City, and she couldn’t let that happen.  There were a half dozen of them.  A fair number, but she was confident she could handle it. 

She took them by surprise, dropping into their midst and swinging her bow staff before they knew what had hit them.  Two went down, then four, but more kept appearing.  It was getting harder for her to kept track of positions, of weapons, and just as she spun around from taking care of one low life, another had an assault rifle aimed point blank at her chest.  But before she could react, and before he could, she felt a rush of air past her face and then the gunman was on his back, arrow through his shoulder.

She spared a glance back, even though she knew she shouldn’t have wasted the time, and there he was, standing on the roof of a shipping container.  His bow was raised and he was firing again and that spurred her back into action.  Together they took down the threat and when everything was quiet again, he was beside her.  “Let’s go,” he said.  His voice, not coloured by the modulator, was neither angry nor gentle.

“What about this?” she asked, thinking about the dealers, their guns and their shipment.

“The police are on their way.  They’ll handle it from here.”

Then they were in a van.  It was black and non descript and being driven by someone Laurel couldn’t see, though she had a pretty good idea of who it was.  And though Oliver had pushed off his hood, he didn’t say a word, so neither did she.  But she knew better than to mistake his quiet for calm.   They were back in the foundry when he confronted her.

“What were you thinking?” he snapped at her.

“I was doing my job,” she snapped back.

“Those weren’t thugs and gang bangers Laurel, that was the Triad. And you just jumped right into the middle of it.”

“I could have handled it.”

"He was going to shoot you.”

“I had it under control,” she insisted, her voice becoming louder.  “Look Oliver, whether you like it or not, I am NOT going to stop doing what I think is right.”

“I know,” he said.

The answer surprised her and she was sure it showed on her face.  Her mouth opened but she didn’t know what to say.  So he filled the space.

“I don’t like this Laurel,” he started, “this choice that you’ve made.” 

Despite what he was saying, his tone was gentle enough that she didn’t jump to fight him.

“But,” he continued, “it’s your choice to make.  If this is how you want to honour Sara, then I’m not going to stop you.”

To say that that wasn’t the answer she was expecting would be an understatement.  It took her a moment before she could say “Thank you,” the words breathed out in an exhale of relief and gratitude.

“You know, when I first started this,” he said, “I thought I was going to do it all on my own. I thought I _could_ do it all on my own.  But I was wrong. I never would have survived this without help, without a team.”

And when Laurel shifts her focus from Oliver, she sees them, the same three people as the last time he brought her here.  They’re focused on her, and she finds it a little unnerving.  “What are you saying?” she asks.

“You could do more and be safer if you worked with us.”

She didn’t know what to say.  She was sure the shock must have shown on her face; after her last encounter with Oliver how could it not.

“We’ve been watching you out there,” he says.  “You’ve worked hard Laurel, you’re a skilled fighter.  But there’s more we could teach you.”

“Ollie, a month ago you were practically forbidding me to set foot in the Glades,” she says when she finds her voice again.  “And now, what?  You’re asking me to be part of the team?”

“This is a dangerous life you’ve chosen Laurel,” he says firmly.  “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she says defensively.

“I never said that you did. But working together makes us all safer and trust me, after the island, that was not a conclusion I came to easily.  But I would be dead now, so many times over, if I were doing this alone.  And I don’t want that for you.”

Part of her wants to shout yes.  She would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that working side by side with Oliver as the Arrow had been something she’d thought about, maybe even fantasized about.  But the words “us” and “we” are rattling around in her brain.  It’s not just Oliver.  Oliver she knows, but these other three, his team, are strangers.

“I don’t know,” she answers.

“Just consider it.”

And she does.  For the rest of that night and for several nights after she rolls the possibilities around in her mind.  In the end it’s one truth that convinces her.  She can do more, take out bigger targets, leave a stronger legacy for Sara, if she works with the Arrow and his team.  But she’s got conditions of her own and she needs to make sure they will be met before she signs on. 

She seeks him out one Saturday afternoon.  He’s at Verdant, but upstairs this time, standing behind the bar.  The blond is with him, sitting on a bar stool with a coffee cup and a tablet in front of her.  Laurel had hoped to catch him alone, but she didn’t turn back.  Her footsteps echoed in the empty space and she caught his eye when he looked over.

“Laurel,” he said in way of a greeting.  His tone was friendly and maybe, she thought, even a little hopeful.

“Hi,” she said, feeling more like an awkward teenager than a fly-by-night crime fighter as she looked between the two of them.  “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Oliver answered.  “Felicity and I were just having a coffee break.”

“I, uh, was hoping you might have a minute to talk,” Laurel said, her gazed focused on him, hoping she wouldn’t have to add “alone” out loud.  Her stare made her notice the way his eyes flashed to Felicity before answering her.

“Sure,” he said, coming out from behind the bar.  “We can use the manager’s office.”  He held out an arm to show her the way and she walked ahead.  When he closed the door behind them, she steeled herself and spun to face him.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer to join the team,” she said.

He quirked a brow.  “And?” he asked.

“And I think you’re right.  I can do bigger things to help this city if I work with you.  Plus, having back up is a good thing for both of us.  But,” she added in a forceful tone, “I need some assurances from you before I agree.”

“Like what?” he asks in a tone that sounds both amused and apprehensive.

“I need to know that you’re not just going to keep me on the sidelines, that this isn’t just some plan to get me off the streets and tucked into your safe little lair.”

“That’s not what my offer was about Laurel,” he says, and she feels a little relief.  “But,” he adds, echoing her caveat from before, “you have to realize that working as part of a team means you won’t always be on point.  There are different roles that need to be filled every time, and we have to know that we can rely on you to do your part.  We work as a unit, you need to understand that.”

She took in what he said.  The team, the “we”, still scared her somewhat, but she agreed.

“Good,” Oliver said, with the first sincere smile she’d seen on his face since she’d come back.  She couldn’t help but smile in return.  “Meet us here at 8.”

Leaving the club, she felt good.  She felt that she’d made the right decision and her shoulders seemed to feel a little lighter as a result.  All she could do was hope that the feeling would last.


	3. Chapter 3

When Felicity burst into his office that Thursday morning, he knew something was wrong.  Her stride was determined, her mouth set in a hard line, and her eyes held something he couldn’t read.  He rose to meet her. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“There were reports last night, police reports, of a masked blond woman taking out muggers.”

Oliver felt himself begin to tense.  Felicity continued.  “So I looked into where she’d been and hacked some security footage.  And this is what I found.” 

She thrust the tablet into his hands and he looked at the screen.  What he saw made his breath hitch.  He snapped his face up to hers and found her eyes wide and her breathing rapid.  He started speaking, “It looks like...”

“I know!” she cut him off.  “It looks like Sara.”

But it couldn’t be Sara.  Felicity knew that too.  But everything, from the leather bolo jacket to the white-blond wig to the bow staff ,was modeled after the Canary.  And the sight of it made his gut clench.

“Come on,” he said, heading for the door.  Work could wait.

It didn’t take long for them to find her.  Between Felicity’s software and Roy’s reconnaissance he had her position in the Glades before the night was over.  He spotted her near a vacant lot, knocking some punk against a chain link fence.  An elbow to the gut doubled the kid over and after she shouts at him, some threatening statement about what she’ll do to him if she catches him trying to steal another car, he takes off down the street.

Oliver approaches then, using her distraction to get into a position about a dozen feet away from her.  When she turns around, he’s there, staring her down, scrutinizing her face.  He knows it can’t be Sara, he _knows_ that, but he can’t stop himself from looking for her under the mask.

“Who are you?” he demands, the tight clench of his jaw making the words that much more forceful.

“I’m the Canary,” she answers.

Rage bubbles through him as he screams _No_ inside his head.  _Sara_ is the Canary, and Sara is dead.  He moves towards her, determined to end this one way or another. 

“I’m only going to ask one more time,” he says, keeping is voice as controlled as he can, “and then I’m going to find out for myself.  Who are you?”

When the mask comes up he stops breathing.  It takes his brain a moment put the face that’s so familiar into a context he never expected to find it in.  Laurel. 

The shock lasts only a second before the rage returns.  He grabs her roughly and starts walking towards his bike, bringing her along whether she wants to or not.

“What are you doing?” she asks in an irritated tone.

“We need to talk,” he says gruffly, not even turning to face her.  Then, in a quieter voice he talks into his comm. "I’ve got her,” he says to his team on the other end.  “It’s Laurel.  I’m bringing her back.”

There was a beat of silence before he heard Diggle’s even voice.  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

The implication gives him pause.  Can he trust her?  He’d always had a bit of a blind spot when it came to Laurel, and she’s been gone for two years.  But it was his first thought that he ended up voicing to Diggle.  “I don’t have a choice.  We need to talk to her.”  And Oliver was pretty sure the conversation wasn’t going to be quiet and civil.  He had a thousand questions rolling around in his head right now, all of which were angry, and he couldn’t afford to have two masked vigilantes arguing in an alleyway making a scene.

It’s not until they reach his bike that he looks at her again.  “Get on,” be bites out.  When she does, he revs the engine and takes off.  His driving is faster and more aggressive than is strictly necessary but he doesn’t slow down, not until he’s rolling down the ramp at the club.  He swings off the bike and stalks into the lair.  And when he turns to face Laurel again, he unleashes his frustration.  She will not be doing this.  This is absurd.  He’s already lost Sara to this, he will not let it happen again with Laurel.  He shouts, she shouts.  Diggle tries to calm them but he’s not having it.  And then a softly spoken “Oliver” makes its way through the deafening pounding of his own blood through his veins and he turns to find its source. 

When he sees her there he stills.  He hadn’t noticed her approach, which he takes as a sign of how engrossed he was in his anger because he can normally feel when she’s near.  It’s always been like that with Felicity.  With his focus on her soft eyes, he breaks through the rage and comes back to himself, like a drowning man finally breaking the surface of the water. 

“Take a minute, okay?” she tells him gently, and he knows he needs to.  So he moves past her to a shadowed corner of the space where he lets out ragged breaths and paces away some of his pent up energy.  But he’s still close enough that he can hear Laurel’s every word.  And all he can think as she tells her story, as she talks about her feelings and her training and her plans, is _NO_.  _No_ she will not be taking on Sara’s mantle.  _No_ she will not be putting herself in danger.  _No_ , he is not going to watch her die like he did Sara.  So once she has said her piece and the lair is quiet waiting for his response, that is what he tells them.  “No.”

He knows his retreat into the dark recesses of the foundry won’t last forever.  But still, she gives him some space and time before coming to find him.  And he knows it’s her.  From the sound of her step to the smell of her hair to just that feeling he gets whenever she’s near.

“So I think it’s fair to say that you have some _strong_ feelings on this Laurel issue.”

“Felicity...” he says, his voice edged in warning.  He still doesn’t want to talk about it but knows it won’t stop her.

“Oliver,” she says, his name coming out with a touch of exasperation, “I get it.  You don’t want her getting hurt.  But she was right about one thing, she doesn’t need your permission.”

He feels his anger start to rise again and it comes out in the harshness of his voice.  “She has no idea what she’s asking for, no idea what she’s getting into.  She doesn’t know what it means to live this life.  And I am not just going to stand by and watch her give up her life for this.”

“But that’s just it, Oliver,” Felicity says looking him in the eye and taking a step closer.  “It’s _her_ life.  It’s her choice.  She’s trying to honour her sister, and I know that’s something you can relate too.  You wear the hood for the same reason.”

Yes, he thinks to himself, he wears the hood for Shado, for Yeo Fey, but he also wears it because that island broke him down and built him into something else.  Just like it did to Sara.

He shakes his head.  “Sara wouldn’t want this for her,” he says.

She gives him a sad smile.  “I know,” she replies, surprising him a little.  “But I also know that Sara would want us to look out for her.”  Then she reaches out and squeezes his hand.  “Just give it some thought,” she says.  Then she’s gone again.

He stays by himself for a while longer, exactly how long he’s not sure.  In the dark room memories form in front of his eyes, memories of Sara and Laurel, of how they were before the island.  He generally doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking of his pre-island life, the dichotomy of then and now is too hard to reconcile.  But Sara, the old Sara, has always been especially painful for him to remember.  The fun, carefree girl that got onto the Gambit with him was not the one who returned to Starling all those years later.  He watched her die so many times, and they all felt like his fault.  He’d been there to see her die the final time, as the Canary.  He can’t go through that again.

When he finally comes out, the foundry is quiet.  Digg and Roy have gone, but Felicity is in her chair, back to him as she works.  He walks over to her, his footfalls purposefully heavy so she won’t be startled.  When he gets to her he leans over her shoulder so their faces align.  “We’ll keep an eye on her,” he says softly.

It becomes part of their routine, tracking Laurel.  From police reports to eye witness accounts to hacked camera footage, they can create a fairly detailed picture of the Canary’s nightly activities.  Nobody questions him about it.  The team understands why it’s important to him.  Diggle even echoes Felicity’s words.  “Sara would want us to look out for her,” he’d said.

It was Diggle that first suggested they go further.  He and Oliver were watching Laurel as the Canary through hacked camera feeds.  The group of thugs she was engaging had been harassing a woman. Laurel had stepped in and taken them all on.  She was holding her own and even had the upper hand despite being outnumbered.  She’d been trained well.  But watching her, Oliver couldn’t help but think that if she varied the speed of her attacks she’d be more efficient at taking them down.  He said as much to Diggle.

“Well maybe someone should teach her that,” was Diggle’s reply.

Oliver didn’t answer him and John didn’t push, they just went back to their observation and it wasn’t mentioned again that night.  Oliver already knew that they couldn’t keep this up forever, that they would either have to start working with Laurel or let her go.  But part of him still felt like doing either would be a tacit approval of what she had decided to do, and he couldn’t do that, not yet.  So they watched her for weeks more while he tried to hold on to the idea of Laurel that he had kept in his head, hoping against hope that maybe she’d change her mind and make a normal life for herself.

“She’s not going to stop Oliver,” Felicity told him one night as if reading his thoughts.  “Let’s face it, you’ve always had a thing for stubborn women.”

He quirked a brow at her.  “Are you including yourself in the observation?”

“Absolutely,” she replied with a smirk, and despite his tension he couldn’t help but chuckle.

That night at the foundry they have their first discussion about Laurel joining the team, about what it would mean for all of them.  Roy says it would be easier than all the surveillance.  Diggle argues they could teach her how to be better.  Felicity talks again about how Sara would want them to work together.  It was the best course, they all decided, to ask Laurel to work with them.  For Oliver, it’ the best he can think to do with a terrible situation. 

It’s not until later that night, as he watches Felicity pull back the sheets of their bed, that he thinks to ask her privately, “Are you all right with working with Laurel? Given, you know, everything?”

He doesn’t have to explain what “everything” is, he knows she understands.

“It won’t be the first time I’ve worked with an ex-girlfriend,” she says.  “I’ve even worked with a few while they were current girlfriends.”  Her tone is casual, almost light.  But Oliver doesn’t want platitudes.  He needs to know for sure, needs to know how she really feels.  She must read it in his expression because after a beat she moves to him, crawling over the bed to clasp his hand and look him in the eye.  Her hair is down and it frames her face and he can’t help but think how beautiful she is.

“Oliver, I know you’ll always love Laurel,” she says.  Her voice isn’t jealous or accusatory, just soft and understanding.  He doesn’t deny it, because it’s true.  Given their history, part of him will always love Laurel.  But she’s in his past, and there’s only one person in which Oliver can see his future.

“But I’m _in love_ with you,” he tells her with all the conviction he can pour into his voice.

She smiles at him and her eyes sparkle and his heart skips a beat because that’s what it does every time she looks at him like that.

“I know,” she replies, looping her arms around his neck.  She kisses him sweetly before pulling back to see his eyes.  “I am fine with working with Laurel,” she tells him, and he’s satisfied.

It was agreed that Oliver would be the one to talk to Laurel, but he had no idea how to go about it.  While he’d be inviting her to join his team, he still didn’t want her to be the Canary at all, and he knew that fact would colour their conversation.  They’d both be on edge, fighting their case and it could easily turn into a battle.  He didn’t want that.  He’d have to be calm and rational.  Laurel literally dropping into the middle of a gang of Triad members did not leave him feeling calm and rational.

They’d known about the Triad shipment coming into the docks that night, they’d picked up chatter about it while monitoring the city.  Oliver as the Arrow, Roy and Diggle were already on route when they heard Felicity’s voice through the comms.

“Uh oh,” she’d said, cutting through the silence in the van.  “Guys, Laurel’s there.  She’s engaging.”

“We’re almost there,” Diggle told her while Oliver only clenched his jaw.

He had the door to the van pulled open before Diggle had even stopped it, him and Roy hitting the ground running.  He signalled for Roy to go around behind while he would go up for a better vantage point.  Roy nodded and they separated.  With silent steps Oliver crossed the space and scaled the shipping container.  She was impossible to miss.  With her white blond wig sweeping with every strike, every movement, the Canary was fighting a group of armed gang members alone, and she was badly outnumbered.

When he saw the gun pointed at her, Oliver’s first move became abundantly clear.  The gunman was down with a single shot.  He took only a second to make sure Laurel was still standing before nocking another arrow and firing again.  With him and Roy leveling the odds, the battle is over relatively quickly.  He relays through the comms that they’re finished and Felicity wastes no time dispatching the police who will secure the scene after they’re gone.

He jumps down from the container, sees the van coming to collect him and Roy.  And he sees Laurel, standing in the midst of the bodies on the ground, groaning or unconscious but still breathing, and knows that this is the exact reason that he doesn’t want her working alone.

“Let’s go,” he tells her.

The ride back to the lair is silent.  Oliver is collecting himself, coming down from the adrenalin rush of battle, knowing in his head that if they’re going to be having this conversation he’ll need to be calm and rational.  He almost manages it.

“What were you thinking?” is the first thing to come out of his mouth.  It’s fueled by anger and he knows it.  So are the next few things out of his mouth, and hers.  He has to bring it down if they are really going to talk about it.

“Look Oliver, whether you like it or not, I am NOT going to stop doing what I think is right.”

“I know,” he says, and it stuns her into silence.  It’s as good an opening as he could hope to get in this situation so he takes it.  He lays it all out for her, why it would be better that they work together, what they could teach her, and that while he can’t approve of her decision, he respects that it’s her decision to make and not his.  She leaves the lair that night with a promise to consider it.

Felicity tells him he did well.  He didn’t bully or intimate or threaten, he offered her a choice, and now it’s up to her.  It’s less than a week later when she comes to find him at Verdant.  She says she’ll work with them and Oliver is almost excited about it.  He’s proud of what he’s accomplished with team Arrow and is somewhat eager to show it off.  Oliver has spent so much of his life disappointing Laurel, but he thinks maybe this can be different. Maybe this can work.  Maybe.

 


	4. Chapter 4

There were a couple of times that first night when Laurel thought she might have made a mistake in agreeing to join Oliver’s team.  The first was when she arrived at Verdant, just after 8, black duffle bag slung over her shoulder.  A few people were milling around in the open space, the wait staff and the bartenders getting ready to open the club for the night, but she didn’t see Oliver.  An unexpected eruption of nerves hit her and suddenly she was second guessing herself.  But before she could decide whether to seek Oliver out or just leave and never come back, she heard someone call her name.

He came towards her, carrying a box of bottles she assumed was for the bar.  He was young and attractive with dark hair and a square jaw and she recognized him as part of Oliver’s team though she didn’t know his name.

"Hey,” he said in way of greeting when he reached her.  “The boss is expecting you.  Follow me.”

She couldn’t help the way her lips quirked up at the thought of someone calling Oliver ‘boss’ and that small moment helped break the tension she was feeling and urge her forward.

The second time she questioned her decision was when Oliver informed her she would not be joining him on patrols that night.

She was in the middle of target practice, having been drawn to the bows and arrows proudly displayed around the lair and knowing there would be no better archery instructor than Oliver, when a beeping alarm sounded from one of the computers.

“What is it?” Oliver asked, already moving towards Felicity’s workstation.

“Police are reporting a series of smash-and-grabs in the Glades,” Felicity answered, her hands flying over the keyboard as she spoke.  “Looks like somebody is in the mood to riot,” she added dryly.

“Roy and I will take care of it,” he said.  “Diggle can coordinate with you here unless we need him as backup.”

“I’m coming with you,” Laurel said, heading towards her gear.

He put a hand out to stop her as she passed him.  “Not this time,” he said.

“What?!” she nearly shouted at him, her voice a mixture of anger and disbelief.  “I thought we had this discussion already Oliver. I am not about to let you sit me on the sidelines!”

“This isn’t about sidelining you Laurel, this is about you joining the team, and before you come out with us, I want you to see how we operate.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.  “Stay here tonight, learn from Felicity and Diggle, see how they work from this end, and tomorrow you can come out with Roy and I and see it from the other side.”

She wanted to argue, but his tone was so calm and rational that she knew it would make her seem combative and aggressive if she started railing against him.  So she held her tongue and ground out, “Fine.” 

She sat with Diggle and Felicity that night, comm link in her ear, observing the back and forth between both sides of the team and had to begrudgingly admit that maybe Oliver was right about it being a good idea.  None of her training had focused on team work but she could see the efficiency of it here.  And true to his word, the next night Laurel was suited up and out on the streets with both Oliver and Roy and another bit of her trepidation about joining the team was eroded away.

The team itself was almost another matter entirely.  Meeting them for the first time, officially meeting them, was interesting.  Knowing what she does now about Oliver, about all of them, she’s amazed and a little embarrassed that she never put much attention into John Diggle or Felicity Smoak.  Sure, she’d noticed them, always around Oliver, but always at the edges. 

She knew Oliver would argue that that was the point.  That he and John and Felicity had gone to great lengths to keep people from reading anything into their relationships.  But Laurel wasn’t most people, not when it came to Oliver.  She thought she knew him better and the fact that she had only seen what he wanted her to see, stung. 

Even now, knowing that they were both a part of this, was a little surreal.  Diggle she could understand.  The guy was ex-military, he was as broad as a brick chicken house and had arms that rivaled Popeye’s.  Imagining Diggle helping the Arrow was not a stretch.  But Felicity?  She never would have thought it.  She knew she was Oliver’s assistant and she’d attributed the fact that she never seemed far from Oliver to a naive crush on a handsome billionaire.  She couldn’t have been more wrong.  Felicity had to be the most overqualified secretary in the history of Queen Consolidated.  The things she could do with a computer and the speed at which she could do it, sometimes left Laurel’s head spinning. 

It took Laurel a few days to notice Oliver and Felicity were together.  Maybe she was too caught up in her own head to see it before, or maybe they had made a conscious effort to hide it.  Either way, once she did see it, it was impossible to miss.

It started with noticing them leave one night.  Laurel, still pumping with adrenaline from that night’s patrol, decided to stay at the Foundry a little longer and work it off.  She thought she might even try Oliver’s salmon ladder and was excited at the prospect of the challenge.  Oliver, showered and changed out of his hood and back into his street clothes, smiled and told her to have fun and headed over to where Felicity was waiting with her jacket slung over her arm.  Then he took her hand, their fingers interlacing, and held it all the way up the stairs and, even once they were out of sight, Laurel knew that he wouldn’t let it go.

After that, she saw it everywhere. She saw it in the way he touched her shoulder, and in the way he would look at her mouth.  She heard it in the way he said her name and they way he laughed, honest to God laughed, in a way she hadn’t heard from him in years.  And while logically she knew that she didn’t have a claim over Oliver, it didn’t stop her heart from clenching, not entirely. 

To make matters worse, her brain couldn’t seem to stop coming up with questions about Felicity, about who she was and how she got involved with Oliver, and with the Arrow.  They were questions she didn’t know how to ask, yet ones she craved answers to.  Laurel saw her chance one night at the Foundry.  She was helping Oliver stow some gear and they were removed enough from the rest of the team that she felt they could talk. 

“So,” she started, trying her best to sound nonchalant, “you and Felicity, huh?”

“Yeah,” he answered, his tone upbeat.

“When did things happen? I mean she was your secretary and then...?” she trailed off, leaving her question in the air.

Oliver shook his head.  “No, no. She was helping me with all this,” he gestured around the foundry, “long before she was my secretary.  Giving her that job was just to give us a cover, so nobody would question why we spent so much time together.  But,” he said, his lips curving up a little, “she is also a very good secretary.” 

“And what about...the rest?” Laurel asked.  “When did that happen?”

“After,” he answered.  “After Sara.”

 At the mention of her sister’s name, Laurel’s face fell a little and sadness started to cloud her eyes. 

After a pause, Oliver continued in a light tone.  “You know,” he said, “it was Sara who pointed it out to me.” 

“Pointed what out?”

“That I was in love with Felicity.”

Laurel quirked a brow.  “You didn’t know?” 

He shrugged.  “I was in denial.”

When Laurel’s gaze didn’t waver, he elaborated.  “I guess I thought that if I didn’t love her then she wouldn’t get hurt.”

“So what changed?” 

“She got hurt anyway,” he answered, “and I couldn’t deny it to myself anymore.  I _was_ already in love with her.  I’d loved her since... I don’t know, probably the day we met.”  And whether Oliver realized it or not, his eyes had sought out Felicity across the open space.

“What happened the day you met?”  The words were out of her mouth before she even realized it, and part of her wanted to take it back. 

Oliver was quiet for a minute, eyes still locked on Felicity where she sat in her usual chair, face animated while she chatted with Diggle.  Then his lips quirked up again and he said “She made me smile.”

Laurel studied him for a moment, watched him as he watched _her_ , before turning her attention back to the boxes in front of her.  She didn’t feel like asking any more questions that day. 

In passing, she learned more about the woman who held Oliver’s heart.  She learned that Felicity was an MIT graduate, that she worked in IT before Oliver pulled her, unwillingly, up to the executive floor.  And, maybe most importantly to her, she learned that Felicity had been a part of the Arrow from practically the beginning.  While Laurel had been getting the Oliver Queen mask that he wore so often after first getting home from the island, Felicity had been given the real thing.  The fact that she had been oblivious for so long annoyed her, grated on her nerves.  It was not the best way to feel for someone trying to become part of a team.  Because while Laurel felt that she was on the right track with _learning_ to be part of the team, _feeling_ like she was part of the team was another matter entirely.

Being out in the field was no problem.  Out on the streets at night, fighting beside the two Arrows, she was in her element.  She moved with confidence and determination and she had never felt stronger.  But in the quieter times, down in the lair, with everybody out of costume, she felt out of place.  They seemed to have their rhythm, the rest of the team, and she didn’t know where she fit.  They’d talk about things that she didn’t relate to, a television show they all watched or moments from their past that she didn’t know about.  And how could she know those moments?  They’d lived a secret together for so long and it bonded them together, and left her on the outside.  But, she told herself, it didn’t matter.  She was carrying on Sara’s legacy and she was doing it well.  That was her purpose now, and she was succeeding.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurel’s absolute favorite part of being back in Starling City is spending time with her father again.  When she was away, the days she found it hardest to focus were the ones where she thought about him.  She would remember in vivid detail the last time she had seen him, the pained look he still wore on his face from Sara’s death.  She had gone to his apartment to see him one last time before she left.  Her mind was already made up but she wasn’t about to tell him where she was going, what her plan was.  She only told him that she needed space, that she needed time to sort things out.  He looked at her so sadly but didn’t argue, like he didn’t have it in him to fight her right then.  Instead he just asked her, “Will you call?”  “I don’t know,” she answered him truthfully.  One last hug and she was gone, walking away from him without looking back.

Her time away had hurt him, had damaged their relationship, she knew that.  But it was coming back.  She felt it building, as their laughs came more easily and conversations flowed more freely.  He’d asked her, of course, where she had been.  She answered truthfully but vaguely.  She didn’t offer information and he didn’t pry.  Tacitly, they seemed to come to an understanding about it.

She never wanted him to know her as the Canary, it was never in her plan to tell him, but she should have known he would figure it out.  Having known Sara was the Canary, it wasn’t a hard leap to make.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked her one day, seemingly out of the blue.  “The masked blond, roaming the city at night?  Sara’s mask.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.  She let the silence, her lack of denial, be her admission.

“Dammit Laurel,” he said, his voice sharp, and for a moment, he couldn’t look at her.  She felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach.  She knew this would be hard for him.  When he did look at her again, his eyes looked sad.  “I’ve already lost one daughter to this crusade,” he said.  “I can’t lose another.”

Her heart broke for him in that moment, at the pain she saw in his face.  She understood.  And part of her wanted to swear to him that, if it eased his pain, she’d never be the Canary again.  But her resolve, her dedication to her mission was too strong to let it go.  So instead she grabbed his hand and squeezed it and let all the love she could come through in her eyes and her voice.

“Dad,” she started, “Sara died protecting me.  I can’t let that be in vain.  I need to help people the way that she did.”

“But Laurel, honey, there are other ways that you can help people.  Ways that don’t involve dressing up and roaming the streets at night looking for trouble.”

She smirked a little.  “And what is it that you do for a living, Dad?” 

“It’s not the same,” he said. 

Laurel couldn’t help the small laugh the escaped her.  “Because you wear a uniform and I wear leather?”

“Because I’m not alone out there.”

“Neither am I,” she admitted quietly.  At his pointed look, she explained.  “I’m working with the Arrow now.”

He sighed loud and deep.  “What is it with you girls and the Arrow?  Sara, Felicity, and now you.”

Her head shot up and she couldn’t stop the surprise that escaped her after hearing Felicity’s name mentioned so casually alongside her and her sister.  “Felicity?” she said, a little louder than she meant to.  “How do you know about Felicity?”

“Back when the Hood first popped up, I discovered she was working for him.  She’s the one who helped me disarm one of Merlyn’s earthquake machines, she helped us on the Dollmaker case.  She’s...” his voice trailed off a bit and a smile quirked his lips.  “She’s more than meets the eye, that girl.”

Laurel could hear the fondness in her father’s voice as he talked about Felicity, and the unexpectedness of it punched her in the gut.  She felt... she didn’t know what she felt.

“I fell off the wagon once,” he said, the sound snapping her back to the present, “after Sara died.  I, ah,” his words were stilted, she knew this was hard for him, but he cleared his throat and kept going.  “I ended up at the bar she worked at, Queen’s bar in the Glades.  And before I knew it I was sitting at the bar with a drink in my hand and way too many empty ones around me.  And then I look up and Felicity is there, sitting on the stool beside me.  She didn’t say a word for a while, she didn’t have to.  Then she offered to drive me home and we left. I went to a meeting the next day and haven’t had a drink since.”

She was speechless, the amount of emotions warring inside of her making her head spin.

Then Quinton’s tone is lighter again, and he shrugs like the whole thing was no big deal, even though both of them know better.  “We meet for coffee every so often, talk about Sara, or crime fighting or the weather.”  Then he laughs a little.  “And it drives Queen a little crazy, me spending time with his girl, which is an added bonus.”

Laurel can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood after all he’s just said to her.  And in the midst of all the emotions swirling inside of her, one jumps to the foreground and she acts on it.  She hugs him, hard, and tells him, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

He hugs her back and says, “Well I’m glad you’re here now.”

She smiles into his shoulder.  “Me too.”

He drops the subject as abruptly as he brought it up, but Laurel thinks his face looks a little like it did the day she went away, sad but too tired to fight.  She doesn’t want to fight him either, so she lets it pass and hopes that, someday, when he thinks of her as the Canary, what she’ll see on his face is pride.


	6. Chapter 6

Laurel’s back hits the mat with a thud, the air whooshing out of her lungs and her body smarting from the impact.  The overhead lights seem too bright from this angle and she blinks a few times to keep her eyes from burning.  Diggle leans over her, wiping his face with a towel.

“You’re not focusing,” he tells her, his tone authoritative but not harsh.  “You should have seen that take-down coming from a mile away.”

And he’s right, she knows he is.  She’s not on her game today, and that bothers her.  What bothers her even more is the reason she’s not on her game.  She’s tried to tell herself that it’s a combination of things throwing her off, like the last talk she had with her father, or the fact that her left shoulder is still aching from last night’s patrols, but she knows those things are secondary.  She walked in on Oliver and Felicity today, and she can’t get the image out of her brain.

It wasn’t really her fault or theirs, just a matter of timing.  She must have arrived at the foundry just before they did.  She’d come early today, hoping to steal some time alone on the training dummies.  She walked into the empty space and headed to the back to change and when she’d come out, they were there.  She heard them before she saw them, giggles and low voices. It made her stop in her tracks.  Felicity was perched on the desk, arms wrapped around Oliver’s neck.  His arms were braced on either side of her hips as he leaned into her, alternating between talking into her ear and nipping down her jaw and throat.

It was pretty PG, the whole scene, except for maybe hungry look on Oliver’s face, but it shook her just the same.  After being rooted to the floor for a moment, she quickly fled back into the bathroom and made as much noise as humanly possible before coming out again.  And when she did, Oliver and Felicity were a respectable distance apart in front of Felicity’s workstation, looking for all the world like they weren’t just wrapped up in each other a minute before.

She knows it’s ridiculous, that she has no claim over Oliver, and no reason to be upset.  She and Oliver haven’t been together for years.  She even managed to make peace with the idea of Oliver being with her sister.  But this, him with Felicity, is needling her.

After taking a swig of water and letting Laurel catch her breath, Diggle offers a hand to help her up.  She takes it and he hauls her effortlessly to her feet.  The feeling makes her smile a little.  Laurel likes John Diggle.  They’ve been training together since she started with team Arrow and she noticed right away that he has this amazing way of pointing out your flaws in combat without making you feel weak.  She respects his skill and dedication and often finds herself smirking at his dry humor.

Diggle takes up a combat stance again and shoots her a look that asks if she’s ready to try again.  She settles herself into a defensive posture and gives him a nod.  They engage again and, this time, Laurel doesn’t go down so easily. 

Focus has become a central part of Laurel’s new life.  That’s not to say that her old life lacked focus, she did make it through college and law school after all, but in this new life, the one coloured by watching Sara die in front of her, focus became a singular thing.  Become the Canary, fight for Sara, end of story. 

It was easy when she was hidden away, when for two years there was little in her life that challenged that concentration.  But now, back in Starling City, when at least part of the time she has to live as Laurel Lance again, new feelings are starting to push in around the edges, and she feels out of practice dealing with them.

Maybe that’s why things happened the way they did.

It was one of their bigger operations, the kind that lead Laurel to working with team Arrow in the first place.  The guy was a human trafficker, the kind of scum that sold people like property.  Laurel was itching to take him down.

The mission was days in the making, gathering data, tracking movements, forging a plan.  They figured they’d have one shot.  If they tried and missed, he’d go to ground, and they’d have to find him all over again.

They’d found his safe house.  It was heavily guarded but, with help from an ARGUS satellite, they’d found a way in.  The plan was relatively simple.  Get in, grab the scum, and free his “property”.  Then deliver said scum to the police with a pile of evidence glued to his chest.  Laurel and Oliver would go after the scum bag, Diggle and Roy would free the captives, and Felicity would oversee the whole thing from the foundry, using the ARGUS satellite feed to keep track of everyone’s positions.

At the start, everything was going smoothly.  Felicity was helping guide both teams through the compound and both teams were making steady progress.  Then she and Oliver got pinned down, hiding in a stairwell.

“There’s too much activity ahead,” Felicity told them.  “Hold tight until they disperse.”

“The way looks clear to me,” Laurel offered, peeking her head down the hallway.

“Satellite images show hostiles all over that floor,” Felicity answered.  “We’ve got time, wait them out.”

So they did, for what felt like eons to Laurel’s adrenaline filled system.  But then the noises started through the comm.  Roy and Diggle were engaging.  Gun shots rang out, they seemed to echo inside Laurel’s head.  Grunts and curses followed as Roy and Diggle fought against what sounded like an army of hostiles.  It made Laurel’s muscles twitch.

“They need our help,” Laurel said to no one and everyone at the same time.  “We’ve got to move.”

And almost before she realized it, she was out of the stairwell, dashing down the hall, the sound of Oliver’s harsh “Laurel!” trailing behind her.  The narrow hallway limited her ability to use her bowstaff, so when she encountered the first of the guards, she engaged them hand to hand.  She knocked the legs out of one while Oliver lodged an arrow into the other.  But almost as quick as those two went down, more appeared.  With alarming speed she and Oliver were boxed in, with their only break being that the close quarters they all shared prevented most of the guards from attempting to use their guns.

It was in the middle of the fray that Laurel spotted him, their target.  She’d been staring at his face for days and recognized him the minute she saw his salt and pepper head make an appearance.  He was taking off down the hallway ahead of her and from that moment on, all that was going through her brain was that he could not get away.

Taking out the guard in front of her with an elbow to the face, she dashed through the rest and followed him.  He made it down two floors before she caught him, slamming him into the floor and wrenching his arm behind his back while she delivered a knockout blow.  She also might have kicked him in the gut, just for good measure.

It was only then, with her target at her feet and her blood pounding in her ears, that she thought about Oliver.  In her single minded focus she’d left him behind, and it was with a twist in her gut that she called for him through the comm.

“Oliver?” she said, forgetting in the moment to use his code name.

“I’m here,” came his steady reply and Laurel exhaled.

“I’ve got him,” she relayed.  “Third floor.  What about the others?”

“Basement is secure,” came Diggle’s military voice.

At this, she actually allowed herself to smile.  Their mission was a success.  She’d taken a gamble, charging the floor, but it had paid off.

“I’ll need some help moving the target,” she said.

“I’m on my way to you now,” Oliver returned.

When she saw him emerge from the stairwell she offered him a smirk.  They’d done it, and she was proud.  He didn’t return her enthusiasm.  Instead he was stone-faced, offering nothing more than directions on how they would carry their unconscious target out with them.  Outside they met with Roy, Diggle was already waiting in the van.  A group of scared, shivering people were in the near distance, and Oliver deposited their target at Roy’s feet.

“Stay with them until the police get here,” Oliver told him, a silent nod from Roy the only reply.  Then his unreadable expression turned to her.  “Let’s go,” he said, already walking away from her towards his bike.  Laurel followed, confusion bouncing around in her brain.  But now was not the time to question him about it, not with a group of recently liberated captives looking on.  So she got on the bike and they rode in tense silence back to the foundry.  The engine had only just shut off when she confronted him.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

Under the seemingly too bright foundry lights he turned to face her.

“You broke the plan,” he bit out.  “We were supposed to wait until Felicity gave us the go ahead and you just rushed a floor full of armed guards.”

“We needed to move up the timeline,” Laurel argued, her voice harsh.  “It was taking too long.”

“That wasn’t your call to make Laurel,” Oliver returned, equally harsh.

“Well whose was it then?” she demanded.  “Yours?” she said, staring at him.  “Or _hers_?” she ground out, arm swinging towards Felicity, voice too angry even to her own ears.

“You didn’t even wait for Felicity to give us updated intel,” he snapped.

“Well of course you’d take her side, you’re fucking her!” she shouted.

The shock showed on his face for a moment, and hers too she would guess.  She hadn’t meant for that to come out, and especially not so angrily.

“Excuse me?” he growled, his jaw so clenched it looked painful.

She didn’t know what to say.  In the silence she noticed that Roy and Diggle had come in, her and Oliver’s exchange stopping them in their tracks.  She also noticed Felicity, standing in front of her computers, fuchsia mouth formed into a surprised “O”.

“This has nothing to do with who I share my bed with,” Oliver said, his low voice quickly picking up volume.  “That call wasn’t for anyone to make on their own.  We’re a team Laurel.  While you were busy _finding yourself_ , doing the last thing Sara would have _ever_ wanted for you, we were out there, every night, finding out the hard way what worked and what didn’t.  Our system,” he said, gesturing to Diggle and Roy, Felicity too, to everyone but her, “is the best there is, and it doesn’t leave room people who want to be loose cannons!”

“I caught our target,” she said, voice low and surprisingly strong.

“You left me without backup!” he railed.  “You left yourself without backup!  If you can’t follow the rules, Laurel, if you can’t work with the team, then maybe-”

His voice stopped abruptly, catching himself Laurel realized.  With her pride wounded like it was, she pushed back.

“Maybe what Oliver? Maybe I should just leave?”

A beat of silence followed.  Laurel took it as a sign.

“Yeah,” she said, walking past him.  “Maybe I should.”

Silence followed her all the way up the stairs and out of the door.  She walked away from Verdant without looking back.


	7. Chapter 7

The clang of the door rang loudly through the foundry basement.  The sound, Oliver noticed, made Felicity jump.  He crushed his eyes shut.

“Oliver...” he heard her voice begin.

“I know,” he said, cutting her off.  “I lost my temper.”  He didn’t need Felicity to tell him what a bad idea it was to act in anger.  It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, over and over again. 

“Should we go after her?”  Roy asked.

Diggle shook his head.  “Nah,” he said.  “Give her space to calm down.  Besides,” he added, “I think it’s Oliver that she needs to talk to”.

Their barbs had been a little personal, Oliver knew that.

“Do you think she’ll run?”  Felicity asked, concern lacing her voice, obviously remembering how she handled the stress of Sara’s death.

Oliver exhaled.  “I don’t think so,” he said, the phrase carrying on his breath.  “Sara is tied to this city.  She’ll stay.  Or at the very least she’ll come back.”

For the first time since confronting Laurel, he moved, a slight limp marking his step.

“You’re hurt!” Felicity exclaimed, rushing towards him.

“It’s nothing,” he said, “a lucky kick.”  But he let her help him to the med table anyway.

“And the rest of you?” Felicity said, pointing her gaze and no-nonsense voice towards Roy and Diggle.

“Took one to the vest,” Diggle admitted.  “Gonna be sore tomorrow but no worse for wear.”

“You’re up here next, mister,” she said to him before turning to help Oliver up onto the table.

Oliver sat quietly while Felicity worked, her tender touches calming him down.  There was little she could do other than give him an ice pack for his swollen knee, but he let her fuss over him anyway, an indulgence of sorts.  They talked a little about the mission, their monitoring of police activities confirming that their target was in police custody with a multitude of charges pending.  No one mentioned Laurel’s outburst, or his, and he was grateful for that.  He didn’t want to talk about it right then. 

When they got home that night, Felicity insisted he ice his knee again.  She settled him onto their bed and made a stack of pillows so he could elevate it and then brought him a bag of frozen peas from the kitchen.  Neither of them liked peas, but Felicity stocked their freezer with the frozen vegetables because she thought they made excellent ice packs.  Now peas made him smile because they made him think of her.

“I’m sorry,” he told her as she settled the cold bag on his knee, “about what Laurel said.  She was out of line, and it wasn’t fair to you.”

“It’s not your job to apologize for Laurel,” she told him gently.  “And it’s also not your job to feel guilty about it.  Besides,” she said, crawling into bed next to him, “I’m tougher than I look.”

Despite everything that happened that night, that got a half smile out of him.  “Don’t I know it,” he replied.  Then he sighed as the next thought knocking around in his brain came out without him really intending it to.  “Maybe it was a mistake, asking Laurel to work with us.”

Felicity propped herself on one elbow.  “No it wasn’t,” she said.  “For all of the reasons we talked about before, it was the right call.  And I think it still can be.  But there are some things you and Laurel need to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when you asked me if I was alright with the idea of working with Laurel?”

He nods but doesn’t understand where she’s going with this.

“Did you ever ask if she was alright working with me?”

For a second he’s stunned because, in all honesty, the thought never once crossed his mind.  If you were going to work with the Arrow, you were going to work with Felicity because she was just as much a part of the Arrow as he was.  More than that, Oliver had assumed that Laurel’s feelings for him were just as contained in the past as his were for her.  Maybe that wasn’t the case.  Or maybe it was more complicated than that.  Lord knows if there was one word that could describe his and Laurel’s past relationship, it would be ‘complicated’.

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Oliver heaved a sigh.  Felicity was right; he’d have to talk with Laurel.  If they were going to move forward, then they needed to clear the air. That’s what brought him to her apartment three days later.

Laurel hadn’t been back to the foundry since their argument.  She still suited up at night and patrolled the city, but she kept clear of Oliver and the team and he respected her space.  Part of him, Oliver was starting to admit, admired her determination.

Taking a hand out of his pocket he knocked on her door.  When she opened it, her expression seemed resigned, like she’d been expecting him but not looking forward to it.  In some ways, he knew how she felt.

“Can I come in?” he asks without preamble.

She studies him for a moment, looking for what Oliver isn’t sure.  But she must be satisfied with what she finds because she steps back, giving him a silent invitation.

“If you’ve come to berate me again, I’m not interested,” she says once the door is shut.

He takes a breath, trying to keep her defensive tone from raising his hackles.  “Laurel...” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Look, I know I messed up.  I jumped the gun that night and I’m sorry.  But maybe,” she takes a breath of her own, sits herself down on her couch, “maybe it’s better this way.”

He looks at her for a moment, sitting in this unfamiliar apartment.  It’s much smaller than her old place and, from what he can see, so much more stark, like she hasn’t put in the effort to make it seem like a home.  He moves to sit next to her.

“You did mess up,” he tells her honestly. “But I lost my temper, and I should know by now that nothing good comes out of that.  I’d still like us to work together.”

He meets her eyes but she doesn’t speak and, after a moment, she looks away.

“But I need to know,” he continues, pressing on even though she didn’t answer him, “do you have a problem with me and Felicity being together?”

Her face snaps back to his.  “Of course not,” she says, but it’s too quick and entirely unconvincing.

He scrubs a hand over his face.  “Laurel, if this is going to work, we have to be honest with each other.  We have to get everything out on the table.  So this is your chance to ask me anything, to tell me anything, and we’ll go from there.”

She’s quiet for a minute and Oliver can tell from the hard set of her jaw that she’s weighing his offer.

“What’s with that stupid show you all watch?” she says suddenly.

He raises an eyebrow at her.

“With the British people and the flying telephone booth?” she elaborates.

“Tardis,” he corrects her automatically, surprising them both, and it’s her turn to raise a brow.

“It’s a police box and it’s called a Tardis,” he explains.  “Doctor Who.  Felicity got us into it.  It’s really pretty good.”  Then he stops himself and levels her with a look.  “But that can’t be what you really want to talk about.”

He’s serious about his, and he needs her to be too.  She must see it in his expression because the next things she asks is, “Why her?”  And he can tell by the way she deflates slightly after the words are out that this is what’s really been bothering her.  “Why tell her your secret and not me?” she asks.

“Because I never wanted you to know,” he says.  “I didn’t want you, or Thea, or anyone I loved to look at me and see a killer, because that’s what I was then.  I was broken and angry and single-minded.  I thought I would right my father’s wrongs and then I would stop, and you would never have to know me that way, know the things I’d done."

She looks at him, considering his words.  “So why tell her?” she asks.

“I wasn’t expecting to.  Not at first anyway.  But she always just...saw me.  Saw through all the lies and all the masks.  She saw past everything I was and found the person I _could_ be.  Not the Vigilante, but the Arrow.  And she pushed me to be better.”

Her voice sounds small when she speaks again.  “I always thought you could be better.”

“I know,” he says softly, guilt creeping into his gut.  “And I used that against you.  I made you promises based on the idea of a better me that I never ended up keeping.  Because that Oliver, he didn’t want to be better.”

“And this Oliver does,” she says gently.  It’s a statement, not a question.

He heaves a sigh and gives a half smile.  “This Oliver is trying,” he says.

Her face still looks sad, but she gives him a watery smile and puts a hand on his shoulder.  “You’ve come so far Ollie, don’t ever doubt that.  That fact that we’re even having this conversation, that you wanted to talk things out, is proof in itself.  The old Oliver ran with things got hard, and I,” she shakes her head at herself, “I let him.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but Laurel, I really am sorry for all the ways that I hurt you.”  He can never apologize enough, he realizes, for all the crap his stupid younger self put her through.

“I know,” she says.

They sit in silence for a moment before she asks, “If things had been less complicated between us, if there had been less hurt and fewer lies, do you think...do you think things could have been different?”

He knows what she’s asking, even if she doesn’t say it directly.  He takes a second to phrase his answer, knowing he owes her the truth but not wanting to hurt her.  “There are a lot of things about my life I would change if I could,” he says, looking her in the eye, “but Felicity isn’t one of them.”

He watches her eyes close, squeezing shut to give her a moment away from him, before she opens them again and gives him the barest of nods.  And he knows she understands.

Two nights later, Laurel comes back to the foundry.  She settles back into her routine, training with Diggle, patrolling with him and Roy.  She apologizes to Felicity for her outburst, saying she knows her comments were out of line and that she’s sorry, and Felicity tells her all is forgiven.  They move on.

But Oliver notices things now that he didn’t before, about his new team.  Laurel will banter with Roy, have discussions with Diggle, chat with him, but with Felicity, there’s more distance.  Laurel is always polite to Felicity, they make small talk, discuss missions, but that’s it.  Looking back on it now, Oliver realizes that was probably always the case.

“She doesn’t have to be my friend Oliver,” Felicity tells him when he brings it up to her.  “Not that I wouldn’t _want_ to be her friend,” she continues, “it’s just...I don’t know, maybe we’re not going to have that kind of relationship.”  

Felicity assures him it’s fine, they can still all work together, and Oliver, somewhat reluctantly, lets it go.

He meant what he said to Laurel, about there being things in his life he wishes he could change.  Taking Sara along on that boat is one of them.  Sara and Laurel, they didn’t deserve what came out of that.  But as much as he’d like to, he can’t change the past.  He can only move forward and grab on to the good that’s given to him.  It took him a while to figure out that last part.  He can only hope that Laurel is a quicker study than he was.


	8. Chapter 8

She hadn’t meant to do it.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true.  She had wanted Roy not to die, and he was going to, if the guy crushing his windpipe had anything to say about it.

They were tangling with the Triad again.  The organization was really pushing back against team Arrow lately.  Every second day it seemed they were taking down a distribution ring, only to have the Triad put another in its place.  It was getting exhausting.

Laurel and Roy had been working the east side that night.  Some of Roy’s contacts in the Glades had said the Triad was looking to set up shop in the neighbourhood.  He and Laurel had gone out to try to discourage them.  It should have been simple, dealing with low level thugs, but a few in the group packed surprising punches.  These guys were trained, hardly the low level street types they had been expecting.  Still, Roy and Laurel were holding their own, having taken out most of the group. It was down to two against two, when things started to go wrong.

They guy Roy was fighting got in a lucky left hook, the force of which sent Roy stumbling backwards.  The goon used the opportunity to kick Roy’s legs out from under him and he hit the floor hard.  Before he could do anything about it, the thug had a broken staff pressing into Roy’s throat, pinning him to the floor and cutting off his air.  Try as he might to get out of the hold, he wasn’t having any luck, and the Triad bastard pushed the wooden cylinder against his neck with unrelenting pressure.

Laurel could only watch the scene in small glimpses as the guy she was fighting was doing an excellent job of hemming her into a corner.  Every time she tried to move past him, he pushed her back and she had yet to get the upper hand.  Roy was running out of time, she could see that.  His resistance, which had been strong at first, was fading, and he wasn’t making a sound.  He was going to suffocate before her eyes.

A surge of adrenaline pushed her forward, her elbow making contact with her attacker’s nose with enough force that he finally went down.  Roy seemed impossibly far away but then she’d seen it, the gun lying at her feet.   Acting on instinct she’d grabbed it and fired, aiming for the center of mass, no time of finesse.  Roy’s attacker went down like dead weight.  Roy didn’t move.

“Roy!” she cried out, running over where he was sprawled out on the floor.  “Roy!” she tried again, grabbing his face.  With trembling fingers she searched for breath, for a pulse.  There was nothing.

“Shit,” she said.  It might have been out loud, it might have been in her head, she didn’t know.  But it kept repeating on a loop.  _Shit shit shit shit shit._

She tilted his head back and gave him two breaths while she pinched his nose shut.  Then she started compressions.

One and two and three and four and five.  Two and two and three and four and five.

The counts became a mantra, the only thing keeping her grounded.  Two breaths, then start again.

One and two and three and four and five.  Two and two and three and four and –

A strangled inhale clawed its way out of Roy’s chest.  His eyes popped open and he tried to surge forward.  Laurel kept him down, telling him he was alright, combing a hand through his hair.  As his breaths evened out, the buzzing in Laurel’s ears subsided, and she started to hear the panicked voice of Felicity Smoak come through the comms.

“Laurel! Roy! Answer me! Please!”

“We’re here,” said Laurel, her voice shakier than she intended it to be.

“Thank god!” was Felicity’s reply.  “Are you two alright?”

Laurel looked to Roy before answering.  He gave her a nod before rolling himself onto his side and trying to sit up.  He needed her help, but he managed it.

“Yeah,” said Laurel.  “I had to practice my CPR, but we’re fine.”

“Hang tight,” said Felicity’s stressed voice.  “Oliver and Diggle are on their way to you now.”

Laurel assessed Roy for other injuries as best as she could.  He would be sore as hell, but it didn’t looking like anything was bleeding or broken, so that was a plus.  It was only after she rocked back on her heels, trying to give Roy a bit of space, that she saw it, saw _him_.  He was lying only a few feet away from them, dead eyes staring into nothing, a red pool spread out under his body.  Roy’s attacker.  He was dead.  She had killed him.  She’d never killed anybody before.

Laurel had always told herself that if push came to shove, she would be willing to kill.  It was a necessary caveat of being a vigilante. And if it was between this guy surviving or Roy, she’d pick Roy every time.  But still, the shock of it hit her system and she found it impossible to look away from what she’d done.

“Hey,” said a voice so rough it sounded painful.  Laurel’s eyes snapped away from the dead man and onto Roy.

“You saved me,” he told her, as if knowing where her thoughts were wandering.  “Thank you.”

The smile she gave him was watery and full of relief, and she couldn’t stop herself from running a hand through is messy hair again.  Damn if she wasn’t getting really fond of this kid.

When they got back to the foundry that night, Oliver took a moment with her.  She half expected him to be angry with her, but he wasn’t.  Instead, he asked her if she was ok.  Yeah, she was ok, she insisted.  Just a little shaken up from having Roy almost die.  But he was fine, so it was fine.  Everything was fine.

“I did what I had to do,” she told him.

“I know,” he replied.

Oliver squeezed her hand and told her if she needed to talk about it, he was there for her, and she nodded her thanks.  As he walked away from her, Laurel let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

Of course the first few nights were going to be rough, Laurel expected that.  It was trauma after all.  Sometimes in her nightmares she didn’t make it to Roy in time, and he died while strong men held her back.  Sometimes it was her that was being choked to death, and she could feel the life slowly leaving her body before she would wake up gasping for air.  And sometimes, most times, it was the blank stare, the dead eyes, and the red pool of blood of the man she had killed.

It was ridiculous, she told herself, to feel guilty for killing a man that seemed to have no problem with the idea of killing her or her friend.  But she still saw him most nights when she closed her eyes, trying to sleep.  So she stopped trying to sleep.

For the first time in years she’s tempted to drink again, knowing it can bring her the kind of dreamless slumber she’s hoping for.  But she knows she can’t be the Canary and be a drunk, so she resists.  Instead she pushes her body to its limit, working herself to exhaustion until she crashes for a few hours before waking up from another nightmare, and the cycle starts all over again.

It’s amazing how long she functions like this.  Her training included some of this extreme deprivation and, in a strange way, she takes comfort in it.  But it starts to catch up with her, and she notices other people noticing it too.  There are the bags under her eyes that she tries to cover with makeup at first, before deciding it’s too much effort and she stops.  Her father pointed them out to her, saying she looked tired.  She told him it was too many late nights and tried to make a joke about how crime never sleeps.  She didn’t think he bought it and when she knew she was starting to look even worse, she avoided seeing him.

She still trained and patrolled with team Arrow, pouring so much focus and determination into it that her performance didn’t slip that much.  But there were looks, she noticed, from Diggle, from Oliver, from all of them.  They were assessing her, knowing something was up and trying to find evidence of it.  She worked the hardest around them to hide it.  She refused to be the weak link.  Oliver had killed people, so had Diggle.  They handled it, so could she.

It all came to a head one night at the foundry.  Things were slow that day, they didn’t have any big operations planned, they were doing team Arrow’s version of taking it easy.  Laurel trained a little, worked up a sweat, but she couldn’t work how she wanted to, she just didn’t have the energy that day.  When she spied the cot in the back corner, she thought she’d just sit down for a minute, take the time to gather her focus.  Before she knew it she was asleep.  But, like all of her sleep lately, it was anything but peaceful.

In her dream she was back at the warehouse, fighting a man with a hood pulled over his face.  One swift kick to the man’s stomach had him stumbling backwards and his hood slipped off.  His features were frozen, his eyes unseeing, and he was covered in blood.  It was the face of the dead man that had been haunting her for what felt like forever.

He came after her again but she was rooted to the spot as one man became two, then four, then countless more, all with the same dead face.  She tried to move but couldn’t, her limbs feeling impossibly heavy.  She heard her name.  They were chanting it, this army of dead men, softly at first before one loud resounding “Laurel!” bursts through her nightmare and has her surging forward.

When she blinks, the warehouse and the men are gone, replaced by the foundry walls and four new faces surrounding her.  Oliver, Diggle, Roy and Felicity, all gathered around her, all looking at her worriedly.

“It’s ok,” she hears a voice say, Oliver’s voice.  “You’re alright, it was nightmare.”  He puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her, but when Laurel feels it, all she wants to do is run away.  And that’s what she does.  She jumps up from the cot and moves a few feet away, getting out of the circle of concerned faces.

“I’m fine,” she tells them, her shaky voice doing her no favours.  “Just a dream,” she says.  “It was nothing.”

She turns to walk away from them when she hears Diggle’s voice.

“You’re not fine Laurel,” he says, and she turns back around.

“You think we haven’t noticed?” he asks her, his tone telling her he doesn’t expect an answer.  She doesn’t give him one.

“It was your first kill, wasn’t it?” says Oliver, taking a step closer to her.  Almost without realizing it, she takes a step back.

“I can handle it,” she tells him, tells all of them.

“Laurel,” he says, his tone so gentle that it punches her in the gut.  He’s treating her like she’s fragile, like she’s breaking.  She hates it.  “Let us help you,” he says.

“No!” she screams, the force of it pushing her to the ground.  She’s so exhausted, physically and emotionally, it’s like she can’t hold herself up anymore.  “I can do it on my own,” she says in a voice so weak she barely recognizes it.  Inside, some tiny part of her brain is telling her she’s being irrational, telling her to go to them, to use their strength to pick her back up, but she ignores it.  Without realizing it, her voice squeaks out a thought that’s been rattling around in her head far too much lately.  “I’m all alone.”

Laurel is only somewhat aware of clicking footsteps making their way over to her.  When she raises her gaze from the floor, Felicity is there, kneeing in front of her.  From the fidgeting of her hands, she can tell Felicity would like to reach for her, but she’s keeping the impulse in check.  Maybe it’s that Felicity is less intimidating than Oliver, or maybe it’s that she just doesn’t have the energy anymore, but she doesn’t feel the need to move away.

“You’re not alone Laurel,” Felicity tells her, her voice gentle but firm, like she’s speaking with conviction.  It makes Laurel meet her eyes.  “You have all of us,” she says.

Laurel doesn’t know exactly what it was about that moment, whether she was just at a breaking point or if it was something about Felicity that made her actually believe, for the first time in a long time, that she wasn’t alone anymore, but the next thing she knew, she had her arms wrapped tightly around Felicity and she was sobbing.  Laurel cried like she hadn’t cried since Sara’s death, cried for what felt like an eternity, and Felicity held her the entire time, hugging her close, letting her get it all out.  Laurel doesn’t remember when she stopped.  She only knows that eventually she fell asleep and, for the first time since she’d killed a man, there weren’t any nightmares to wake her.


	9. Chapter 9

2 months later

“So the judge says to the defendant, ‘I thought I told you I never wanted to see you in here again’.  And the guy says ‘That’s what I tried to tell the cops, your Honour, but they just wouldn’t listen!’”

Laurel shakes her head a little but she chuckles just the same, not so much at the joke, but because it’s exactly the kind of cheesy punch line she expects from her father, and that thought alone makes her happy.  So she laughs, and he laughs, and for that moment, everything seems right in the world.

They’re sitting in her father’s kitchen, coffee mugs in front of them, a box of donuts in the middle.  She’s been there for most of the afternoon and it’s been really nice, spending this time with him.  She reaches over to the donuts and breaks one in half, and when she looks up again, her father is smiling at her, beaming almost.

“What?” she asks him, feeling a little self conscious but smiling back anyway.

“Nothing,” he says with a shrug.  “It’s just, you look good.  You look like you’re doing good.”

The sentiment, spoken with nothing but happiness, makes her want to hug him.  But because of their positions on opposite sides of the table, she settles for grabbing his hand instead.  “I am good,” she tells him and, most importantly, she means it.

It was a rough go for a while, there were so many things she needed to work through.  Not just killing that man, but feelings she had pushed down for so long in her single minded quest to become the Canary, things she hadn’t dealt with, they all seemed to come bubbling to the surface.  But she was working through them, with the help of her team.  They all understood so much more than she ever thought they would.  She wasn’t perfect, she doubted that she ever would be, but she was better, and she was trying, and she felt hopeful.  So yeah, she was good.

Quinton’s hand, still clutching hers, turns over and Laurel gets a glimpse of his watch.  “Oh,” she says with surprise.  “Is that the time? I’ve got to run.”

“You got plans?” her father asks her, standing up as she does.

“Yeah,” she says, slipping on her coat.  “I’m meeting some friends for dinner.”

“Is that code for vigilante activities?”

She laughs out loud.  “No dad, I’m actually meeting some friends for dinner.”

His beaming smile returns.  “Good,” he tells her, and this time she does hug him.

Fifteen minutes later, Laurel is dashing up the steps of Felicity and Oliver’s townhouse.  She knocks on the door and it opens quickly, revealing a smiling Felicity.

“Laurel!” Felicity greets her warmly.  “I’m so glad you’re here! Now we can start.  You are going to love it.  Now, I know that everything might not make sense at first, but you’re coming in at a good spot.  Getting a new Doctor is kinda like a fresh start, and I’ve heard really good things about this new guy, people are really excited about him.  And if you love it, and trust me, you’re going to love it, I have the whole back catalog you can borrow, but I should warn you know, Doctor Who can be a major time suck, I mean-“

“Felicity!” Laurel says, putting her hands on the other woman’s shoulders.  A smile graces her face and her next words come out on a laugh.  “Take a breath.  I haven’t even made it in the door yet.”

“Right,” Felicity said, laughing a little at herself and stepping back so Laurel can come in.  “Sorry, I just get so excited!”

Laurel takes off her coat and drops her bag in the foyer before following Felicity into the house.  By the sounds of it, the rest of the gang is already here.

“Food’s in the kitchen,” Felicity tells her.  “Grab yourself a plate, but, full disclosure, I haven’t made moussaka in forever, so it might be terrible.”  Then, with a shrug she adds, “If it’s terrible, we’ll just order pizza.”

“It’ll be fine Felicity,” says Oliver, walking up behind the blond and planting a kiss on her cheek.  “Hey Laurel,” he says, greeting her with a hug.  “Make yourself at home.”

Laurel moves into the kitchen where Roy is already filling up his plate.

“Hey Roy.”

“Hey,” he answers, spatula in hand.  “Want a piece of this meatloaf-y thing?”

She can’t help the laugh that escapes her.  “It’s moussaka.  And yes, please.”

He cuts her a piece and slides it onto a plate.

“Did Thea come out tonight?” she asks him.

“No,” he answers.  “She said, and I quote, ‘Not for Doctor No-Name, not in a thousand years’.”

Laurel laughs again.  “Oh no,” she says, “What have I gotten myself into?”

“It’s her loss,” comes Felicity’s voice, as she and Diggle come into the kitchen.

“Ours is a strange obsession,” says Diggle in his usual deadpan voice, but the smile quirking his lips gives him away.  He lightly bumps Laurel’s shoulder with his.  “Welcome to the club,” he tells her.

When they are all settled around the television, plates balanced on their laps and drinks sitting at their feet, Felicity presses play on the PVR.  As Laurel watches the blue police box tumble through the opening credits, her mouth full of delicious mousakka, a feeling of warmth washes over her.  In this cozy living room, surrounded by her friends, her team, she feels, for the first time in years, that she’s come home.  Her life might not be exactly normal, but she’s happy.

And in the end, she knows that that’s all Sara ever would have wanted.

               


End file.
